Kissing Miranda Quiet
by Bellatrix's Weightless Tears
Summary: Three hours after the walking away from Miranda, Andy decides to tap on a certain Silver haired car window and employs a unique way to end Miranda's tirade and rant at her.


Miranda sat through the entire collection without looking at it, stunned, she couldn't say what colors the models wore or anything at all about the designer's vision and somehow found herself in her car, yet couldn't recall how she'd got here, it was blur of numbness.

One designer heel in front of another took her there.

The driver cleared his throat, "Madame Priestly, the hotel?"

Miranda nodded. Glancing down at her phone, it was on silent. Andrea had ignored every call.

Andrea had just left. Not one word given to her, in explanation to be suddenly gone. Or even anger hurled at her about the job just being impossible or her being that also.

What Miranda was an expert at being, a horrible boss, simply too much to keep up with, often called demanding, a perfectionist but Andrea did keep up with her and anticipate her needs, once, marginally well.

Not now, of course, Andrea Sachs was a complete disaster and Miranda decided that Andrea would receive an honest reference.

She'd be beginning a very rewarding career in printing at a Kinkos for the rest of her life, after her honest recommendation

A knock on glass made her look up.

Andrea tried another brave tap on the tinted door window, hoping Miranda would just give in, just a little. Sure, she didn't deserve it at all. She knew that.

Rapping on the window again, she knew Miranda was in there.

She'd watched her get in from a distance.

A safe distance.

Miranda almost wanted to have her car pull away, to just leave Andrea there on the sidewalk, her stubbornness wanted to win this.

Also, the wanting of Andrea to begin sputtering apologies and begging for her job back won out, what she savagely hoped felt like a year for Andrea of waiting for her allow her entry, yet only just five minutes passed.

Miranda had handled not her twins' but Stephen's and Greg's silent tantrums for years with seething silence, seeing _her_ reflected in the glass, with those eyes she wouldn't give into, no Miranda held to this, she wasn't being a fool again.

Deciding that she knew she'd always been too easy on Andrea, shown a fondness towards her, that had been a mistake from the beginning, Nigel had noticed this, about her, Miranda denied it.

Constantly.

Nigel had seen it, her liking Andrea and now Nigel wasn't talking to her. Not now after the James Holt slight, that had been a necessity, unfortunately, Miranda's blue eyes cooled, she didn't need to explain herself, and certainly not to Andrea, she had never shown _her_, her harder side, shown her, the devil Page Six wrote about.

The ugly side that drove her husbands' away.

It was a drive that got her, the appointment of senior editor at thirty.

A side, Greg often called her, a masochistic harpy.

A side that really wanted to tear into little Andrea Sachs. Right now. Lidding it, as she placed her shades back on.

Indicating to her driver with a nod, to allow Andrea entry into her world again, knowing as she squared her shoulders, this was going to be another mistake made, studying Andrea's tense face was not missed by Miranda, as she was timidly was slipping in and sliding right next to her, Andrea's palm which was warm, brushed her lightly, making Miranda still, inhaling at the contact, making Miranda grip the leather for grounding.

Watching stoically for Andrea's words of, expecting them to be low, and of humbled contrition, Miranda blue eyes glinted icily, awaiting small words of begging from Andrea to begin, anticipating words of "to reconsider her sudden temporary resignment which was caused by an obvious mental distress, no doubt incurred brought on from Christian Thompson's one night stand she'd participated in last night.

Miranda lips curled at that thought of Christian and her Andrea, thankfully if she needed anything remotely carnal, it was the modern electrical age and she had choices.

Plucking at her fur.

She needed to go to her suite, order a martini and slip into her cashmere pajamas, call her Bobbseys to hear their voices and somehow manage to sleep _this day away_ or read the book, that she'd ordered Emily to get and she had hobbled to the Strand Bookstore to get her.

Waiting for Andrea to say something.

Anything.

Even quiet Andrea made her furious with her.

Walking away from her duties today of all days, making her late for two shows, Andréa Sachs was lucky she was taking this so calmly, thanks to her ongoing therapy determined to cure Miranda of her attitude that stemmed from her cold upbringing, apparently what she needed was group hugs in retreats.

Not bloody likely.

Miranda didn't encourage bodily contact with strangers with tissues.

What was she going to do with Andrea now?

Andrea had once seemed so professional. Promising in fact. My, had she misjudged someone.

Truly, Miranda had no idea that Andrea's one night stand of a bad decision would cause her once amazing and resourceful assistant to lose her remarkable intelligence, and fling a company phone into a fountain's, and decide to go clearly mental and AWOL on the busiest afternoon of her career, she'd let her down tremendously.

Her silent stare took in the brunette, what on earth was Andrea wearing? She'd obviously changed into some sad knitted disaster of a cardigan, and denim, denim in Paris on this street.

Had Nigel's style lesson not penetrated her pretty head?

Miranda noted, that Andrea's very generous clothing allowance provided by Runway was never anything ever resembling this ensemble. Andrea represented American Runway not The Big Issue.

Andrea's clothing allowance would be gone over thoroughly and better be hanging in her suite when Miranda returned to the hotel.

Emily had Polaroided all of it from The Closet.

Andrea may sneak towels, a robe or even minty toiletries from the hotel but not Runway's designer property.

Seeing Andrea open her mouth and then shut it, Miranda silently did enjoy this, the breaking, usually it eventually happened in all of her assistant's.

Most would ask for a good therapist after a week or less working for her.

Then, the tears would start.

Also the hyperventilating about this job of assisting her, being a dream they've had, since first buying a copy of Runway magazine at puberty.

Miranda always had Sheila in HR to dispense encouragements of how they'd tried their very best and handed out Kleenex, Miranda eyes lowered, knowing she couldn't star 69 Sheila here in Paris with the time difference and have her give Andrea, 'you did your best but just couldn't keep pace with Priestly speech on the end of the line, the standard exiting Miranda speech.

This was just them face to face.

Good.

Miranda steeled herself, transfixed by the brunette's habit of biting her lip, Miranda knew Andrea was scared.

"Well, please explain Andrea why you're hours late and finally here, with me?"

Blue eyes reflected something Andy hadn't seen in her ex-boss, a quiet fury, building behind her eye, just terrific, she was in for it, and she knew she deserved it.

Sort of. Though, Miranda was more to blame.

Andrea clearly just thought the worst of her. Judging her choices, her fight with Stephen on the stairs, her marriage which was now over, her job, how she ran Runway, Andrea really was a judgmental unemployed arsehole . . . who really needed to come down from her superior high horse. Just because she took English lit in college and got into a heated discussion with Emily over Austen and Bronte.

Andrea should now go work in a bookstore as Miranda almost grinned, picturing Andrea employed in a sad dying industry super bookstore in this city or worse, or no, Andrea belonged at the Public Library, picking a book of the month until she was retired.

That would teach little Miss Brene Brown, leaving a book for her at her desk, pages filled with advice on happiness and unlocking it, did she look like a New Age Buddhist, it was given just after the fight with Stephen, it was if Andrea was trying to give her marital advice, silently judging her, which was too far, far too personal, once one former assistant had once left her new age crystals on her desk telling her she needed them to clear her aura up, Miranda was not then or ever a hippie.

She was a non-temple going through marriage Presbyterian.

A yuppie in Saint Laurent the 80s in Paris she'd admit, and a Brit expat in boucle Chanel and Thierry Mugler dining at Daniel on 57th during the 90s, when she'd crafted with her vision and hard work shaped Runway what it was, and up against Anna's little project, becoming quite a rival to contend with and it had and still did.

It was earned by Miranda, through a drawn-out long divorce, late nights pouring over photos done by Avedon and Demarchlier with twins' in diapers, she used her measured charms to lure McQueen to feature his first collection for Givenchy in her Runway.

It turned out, from shy Alexander, they had similar working-class backgrounds, so did John Galliano introduced by Amanda, he warmed to her instantly with their love of couture and immigrant roots once plonked down in 60s North London, she'd never admit, once her old neighborhood.

Yet, Andréa Sachs sitting beside her here, was the biggest thorn in her side, shook her up and waking up parts of her, she'd long refined and smoothed out. She wanted to just yell, no rail in the brunette's face, to tell little Andy Sachs from Ohio to fuck off.

Her heart pounding. Almost trembling with cold fury. No Andrea, her now fired little assistant, you don't get to get to me.

Her ivory fingers slid the divider up.

"No more dancing around this." Miranda had the will and the want to do this finally, Andrea had this long time coming.

She'd been too soft on Andrea, with the manuscript fetching. No more sugar coating this.

Sitting here, ready to break.

Slipping her glasses off, Miranda leaned her face into hers. Her lips thinning, curling at those brown eyes holding hers.

"So, Andréa, don't even dare say you're sorry! I want to know, do tell me, what are you going to do about this."


End file.
